Vimes indicated the press of dwarfs behind them. "You"re going to be amazed at how difficult it"s going to be for you, explaining that to them," he said.
It took half an hour to see the King. He had to be roused. He had to dress. Kings don"t hurry.
In the meantime, Vimes and Sybil sat in an anteroom on chairs too small for them, surrounded by dwarfs who weren"t themselves sure if they were a prisoner escort or an honour guard. Other dwarfs were peering around the doorway; Vimes could hear the buzz of excited conversation.
They weren"t wasting much time looking at him. Their gaze always fell on the Scone that he held in his lap. It was clear that most of them hadn"t even seen it before.
You poor little sods, he thought. This is what you all believe in, and before the day"s out you"re going to be told it"s just a bad fake. You"ll see it"s a forgery. And that about wraps it up for your little world, doesn"t it? I set out to solve a crime and I"m going to end up committing a bigger one.
I"m going to be lucky to get out of here alive, aren"t I?
A door was rolled open. A couple of what Vimes thought of as the heavy dwarfs stepped through and gave everyone the official, professional look which said that for your comfort and convenience we have decided not to kill you right at this very moment.
The King entered, rubbing his hands.
"Ah, your excellency," he said, pronouncing the word as a statement of fact rather than a welcome. "I see you have something that belongs to us."
Dee detached himself from the crowd at the door.
"I must make a serious accusation, sire!" he said.
"Really? Bring these people into the law room. Under guard, of course."
He swept away. Vimes looked at Sybil and shrugged. They followed the King, leaving the hubbub of the main cavern behind.
Once again Vimes was in the room with too many shelves and too few candles. The King sat down.
"Is the Scone heavy, your excellency?"
"Yes!"
"It is weighted with history, see? Put it down on the table with extreme care, please. And... Dee?"
"That... thing," said Dee, pointing a finger, "that thing is... a fake, a copy. A forgery! Made in Ankh-Morpork! Part of a plot which, I am sure can be proven, involves milord Vimes! It is not the Scone!"
The King lifted a candle a little closer to the Scone and gave it a critical look from several angles.
"I have seen the Scone many times before," he said at last, "and I would say that this appears to be the true thing and the whole of the thing."
"Sire, I demand - that is, I advise you to demand a closer inspection, sire."
"Really?" said the King mildly. "Well, I am not an expert, see? But we are fortunate, are we not, that Albrecht Albrechtson is here for the coronation? All of dwarfdom knows, I think, that he is the authority on the Scone and its history. Have him summoned. I daresay he is close at hand. I should think just about everyone is on the other side of that door now."
"Indeed, sire." The look of triumph on Dee"s face as he swept past Vimes was almost obscene.
"I think we"re going to need another song to get us out of this one, dear," murmured Vimes.
"I"m afraid I can only remember that one, Sam. The others were mainly about gold."
Dee returned with Albrecht and a following of other senior and somewhat magisterial dwarfs.
"Ah, Albrecht," said the King. "Do you see this on the table? It is claimed that this is not the true thing and the whole of the thing. Your opinion is sought, please." The King nodded at Vimes. "My friend understands Morporkian, your excellency. He just chooses not to pollute the air by speaking it. Just his way, see?"
Albrecht glared at Vimes and then stepped up to the table.
He looked at the Scone from several angles. He moved the candles and leaned down so that he could inspect the crust closely.
He took a knife from his belt, tapped the Scone with it and listened with ferocious care to the note produced. He turned the Scone over. He sniffed at it.